The Saga of Meth
by Ambiguous Enigma
Summary: An alternative take on the events after season 4, specifically taking place between season 5 episode 5 and season 5 episode 8. Many character deaths in shocking and darkly humorous ways. Story includes resurrection of dead characters, brutal violence, drug use and bad language. Not for children. Do not take this story to seriously.
1. Chapter 1

The desert was a hot place during the day, and nobody knew that more than Rodriguez did. Under his two piece suit and half faced mask, the heat was almost unbearable. But the afternoon's dying sun was low on his list of thoughts that day.

He had been given another chance to finish things. This time he wouldn't act a fool and be tricked by some pathetic pretender. He would have his vengeance.

The gravel was crunching under his dry leather shoes, his feet aching due to his incredibly long and unrelenting walk. But it would be worth it. All of his sufferings would be worth it in the end.

After another five minutes of walking and a small black shape appeared in the distance. Peering ahead, Rodriguez could just make out the shape of a car. Getting closer he could also see that there was a figure standing still next to it.

A couple of minutes later Rodriguez was stepping up next to the figure. Clad entirely in a full body black cloak and wearing a hood covering the face, the figure's only movement was turning its head to see note Rodriguez was there.

'Shall we go?' Rodriguez asked quietly.

The cloaked figure barely nodded before turning and getting into the driver's seat of the black four door sedan. Rodriguez took this is a confirmation of leave, so he also got into the car, sitting in the front passenger's seat, resting his head back on the cool leather headrest.

The car was started and moved into action, the wheels crunching over the gravelly ground, making a slow turn and continuing in a straight course.

The cloaked figure broke the silence, but didn't as much as turn a head to Rodriguez. 'So what name are you going under now?' the deep and tired voice asked.

After a long pause the passenger answered, 'Rodriguez.'

The hooded driver nodded to himself, 'very local.'

Not seeing much point in continuing conversation, Rodriguez rested his head back down and closed his eyes, feeling refreshed and calm in the car's air conditioned interior.

Hazy memories began to flash in his mind, not one focusing for any longer than a couple of seconds; getting some form of confirmation over the phone; a slow walk across some carpark; sitting down across from a wheelchair bound old man; a sudden, shocking realization, not knowing he was too late, and finally, exiting the blown to hell room and collapsing onto the floor, a hint of stinging on the right side of his face…

Rubbing his forehead, Gus gave a deep sigh and turned to his driver; 'what happened to you?'

Still not turning from his view of the vast and empty desert ahead, Mike answered, 'shot.'

In a cool and seemingly uncaring tone, Gus asked, 'by whom?'

'…Walter.'

'Ah, I should have expected as much. What did you do to make him do that?'

'You know, I honestly don't know. Guess I hurt his feelings, a bit.'

'And what…' Gus asked slowly, 'exactly happened to me? I can't seem to completely remember.'

Without a seconds pause, Mike replied casually, 'blown up in a nursing home.'

'Huh,' Gus grunted to himself quietly.

They sat in silence for several more minutes before Mike asked, 'so what exactly is the plan, now that's we're, ah… back in action?'

Gus sighed, 'I thought it would have been obvious to you.'

In the distance loomed a building; Albuquerque's tax revenue office. They'd reached the city.


	2. Chapter 2

They sat around the table in friendly silence, taking in the peace and quiet, save for Hank's distant grunting from inside as he presumably fought a battle of intense shitting.

Walt Jr sat back in his outdoor patio chair, enjoying the cool, fresh air of the early afternoon. The sun was up, a light breeze flowing and a cloudless blue sky. Truly a nice day to spend some time with family and have lunch outside.

Sighing, Walt Jr pushed away his plate of almost finished chicken and said, 'm-m-may I be excused for a m-m-moment?'

'Of course, honey, we were just going to have some drinks anyway,' Skyler answered.

Slowly getting up from his comfortable spot on the chair and grabbing a hold of his crutches, Walt Jr hobbled with crutch assistance across the undercover lunch area and made his way over to the sliding glass door to the house. Sliding open the door he entered the house, remembering to close the door behind him.

The house was warm and silent, just as it was most of the time. Despite the cool air outside, the inside of the house was dim and stuffy. Momentarily forgetting why he was inside in the first place, Walt Jr frowned in forgetfulness. A few seconds later he remembered that he needed to go to the toilet. Surely Uncle Hank must be finished by now, he thought as he crossed the hallway and approached the bathroom door. It was closed, but that could mean nothing.

Just as Walt Jr was about to turn the doorknob and open the door, the he heard the toilet flush. Realizing Uncle Hank must still be in there, Walt Jr grabbed a firm hold of his crutches and hobbled with intense speed and determination away from the bathroom door, not wanting to be seen to have been about to enter the bathroom while it was being used.

Walt Jr emerged back outside with great speed, or as great a speed as he could manage with his crutches. His mother had a mildly surprised look on her face, 'that was quick, Walt Jr.'

'I did-did-didn't actually need t-t-to go.'

The sliding door was opened again from behind Walt Jr and his uncle came strolling out, holding something large in his arms; a microwave.

'Honey, what the hell are you doing with that?' Marie asked in surprised curiosity.

'Thought we'd test it out, that's all. It's meant to fully work outside just like it does inside.'

'I honestly don't see the point of such a thing…' Walt muttered to himself.

Honey, I don't know, it might not work…' Marie started doubtfully.

'Yeah, come on, I'll just try it out, it'll be fine,' Hank insisted enthusiastically before turning to Walt Jr, 'hey, kid, mind giving me a hand plugging this thing in?'

'Yeah, sure,' Walt Jr replied, changing his course from the table to follow Hank across the pavement.

The closest place to the table to plug in the microwave was a small brick rising located on the pavement right next to the pool. Walt and Hank often stated how much of an inconvenient and dangerous place it was to put a power point, but nothing was done about it.

Hank set the microwave down with an exhalation of breath and plugged the cord into the power point. Walt Jr was excited about trying this out, so he began a little bit of a rush over to where his uncle was next to the pool. He didn't even see the small puddle of water in front of his feet as he slipped in it and staggered forward, desperately flailing his arms around trying to grab a hold of something for support. When both of his crutches toppled onto the ground, Walt Jr was sent sprawling forward, slamming into the side of his uncle.

'Shit!' Shouted Hank as he grabbed a hold of the microwave, falling sideways. The full impact of Walt Jr's collision was worse than it had originally appeared. Walt Jr now face flat on the ground, Hank fell to his right with the microwave still in hand, splashing down into the depths of the pool.

There were a series of short, bright spark flashes before the water in the pool seemingly shuddered once. Then calm. A few moments passed before a dark, hulking shape floated slowly to the surface.

Hank's body was motionless; eyes still open with an expression of sad shock. His mouth was slightly agape, water gushing in and out. The microwave that went down with him rocked gently in the water next to him, its door slightly open, small sparks still cracking inside.

'No!' Came a loud shout from behind Walt Jr. Turning his head as best he could from his position lying face down on the ground, he could see Marie pushing her chair aside and running across the pavement.

'What have you done?!'

Realizing she was talking to him, Walt Jr replied, 'I-I-I didn't see, I-I-I'm s-s-sorry Aunt Marie…'

By this time both Walt and Skylar had gotten out of their seats as well, rushing to the scene of the tragedy. Skylar crouched down in an attempt to help her son while Walt hurried to Marie's side, staring down at the pool and the body of Hank, floating dead in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Their clothes – all black – snapped wildly in the wind, the late morning casting a dull grey light down upon them all. Leaves on the trees in the distance rustled endlessly like private whispers. All around, people's heads were bowed, their eyes focused only on the grass and their feet, not wanting to look up, as if by not looking up they could hide from the truth.

'…and may the Lord watch over his soul. Amen.'

Walt, Skylar and Walt Jr stood solemnly side by side. Walt Jr had his head bowed, looking down at the ground, not daring to look up and risk seeing his aunt's face. The grief was to fresh, the anger still brooding.

When the elderly priest closed his bible and nodded once, as if to himself, and turned to walk away, Skylar rested a hand on her son's shoulder, 'come on honey, let's go.'

When they turned to walk away, they saw that Walt was already crossing the grass, before stopping in front of a man in the distance. Skylar recognized it as Gomez, one of Hank's co-workers. They looked to be in solemn conversation.

'It really couldn't have come at a worse time,' Gomez was saying, 'we were just about to make a major drug bust.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah, in some empty house in the suburbs. They had one of those big green tents over it, like the house had termites or something.'

'Huh, wow, that's really interesting. I mean, do you think it'll lead you anywhere in your case?' Walt asked casually.

'Our case?' Gomez responded, slightly confused.

'That Heisenberg fellow, I think you called him. The big shot.'

'Oh yeah, that's it. Hank was really focused on getting that guy. Shame nothing came of it.'

Walt looked over his shoulder to see his family making their way towards the car. Turning back to Gomez, Walt said, 'well, good luck with the raid. I hope it helps your case.'

'Yeah, thanks Walter. Condolences for Hank.'

When they were all in the car driving home, Skylar turned to Walt and said, 'Marie's really taking in hard.'

'Of course, her husband just died.'

Walt Jr made some sort of noise in the back, so Walt said no more. Skylar rested her head in her hand, closing her eyes and sighing. _How could everything get so screwed up?_

She turned to her husband, 'Walt, could you drop me off at the hospital?'

Walt turned to her with a look of mild worry on his face, 'why? Is something wrong?'

'I was going to visit Ted…' Skylar looked over her shoulder to see Walt Jr resting his head on the seat, his eyes closed. She continued, 'I was going to visit Ted and check if the situation was still understood.'

Walt grasped her meaning and nodded, 'yeah, of course. I'll just swing by now.'

In five minutes Walt drove the car to a stop right outside the hospital sliding doors. He looked over to his wife, 'make sure things are still alright, will you honey?'

She nodded, 'I will. I'll give you a call later when I need you to pick me up.'

She opened her door and got out before looking around into the back seat, saying, 'I'll see you later, Walt Jr, okay?'

Her son just grunted in response, his eyes still closed.

Nodding to herself, Skylar closed the car door and approached the hospital.


	4. Chapter 4

Walt Jr sat at the kitchen table, a familiar spot, with his head resting in both his hands, elbows resting on the table. It had been a couple of hours since the funeral, but the thoughts were still fresh. The dark, windy morning, which had now cleared to a bright afternoon; the solemn faces all around, looks of subdued grief and regret on their faces, and especially his aunt Marie's face; grief-stricken and accusing.

With his mother at the hospital visiting her friend Ted and his father out running some errands, Walt Jr was left alone in the house with his baby sister Holly, who was sleeping gently in her room.

Walt Jr was about to have another spoon of his favorite cereal when there came a knock at the door. Walt Jr wasn't normally meant to open the door when his parents weren't home, but he was bored and by himself, so he decided to get up and make his way over to the door.

Not bothering to look through the peep hole or window to see who it was, Walt Jr just grabbed a hold of the doorknob and opened the door. His aunt Marie stood there, holding a small wooden box of some sort.

'Aunt Marie, w-w-w-what are you doing here?'

'You fucking murderer…' she said quietly, her stare piercing Walt Jr's soul.

'But, wait, a-a-aunt Marie, I didn't m-m-mean…'

'I'll fucking kill you!' She shouted now, throwing the lid off her wooden box and reaching inside.

Walt Jr started hobbling backwards, but he wasn't fast enough. Marie had now taken her hand out of the box, holding a handful of unique, antique spoons.

'Aunt Marie, w-w-what are you d-d-d-doing?!'

'You bastard!' She yelled before raising her hand and throwing the spoons with massive force. Some of them missed, but some hit, one even impacting with Walt Jr's eye.

He let out a shout of pain before diving for the door, which Marie was now dashing towards. Mere moments before Marie got into the house, Walt Jr grabbed a hold of the door and threw it shut, Marie colliding with the wood and exclaiming in a mixture of anger and pain.

Lying on the floor, Walt Jr panted heavily, waiting for any sound outside to let him know what his aunt was doing. For a while there was nothing, but suddenly police sirens were sounded, and people's shouting voices could be heard.

'Drop the spoons, ma'am! Drop the spoons!'

'Fuck you!' Marie yelled back in response.

Though Walt Jr couldn't see what was happening, he guessed from what he had heard next that his aunt had thrown another handful of spoons, this time at the police officers. More shouting occurred, before the sound of somebody being tackled to the ground could be heard.

'I got her! I got the bitch down!'

'Alright, good, let's get her in handcuffs and in the car and we'll get out of here.'

A minute later car doors were slammed shut, the police sirens were turned off, and the police car rolled off the drive way and headed down the street, before finally fading out of hearing.

Getting up with a groan and an effort, Walt Jr grasped for his crutches. Grabbing onto them, he, with difficulty, hauled himself up from the floor. Letting out a sigh of relief and wiping his forehead, Walt Jr hobbled back over to the kitchen table.

Collapsing into the chair, he regained his composure and reached over for the cereal box. He took a bowl from the kitchen bench, some milk and a spoon, and prepared some cereal. Sitting back down in his chair, he began to eat a late lunch of raisin bran cereal.

He was enjoying a spoon full of the cereal pieces when suddenly he couldn't swallow, and it became stuck in his throat. Letting out a loud cough and choke, he grabbed his throat and tried desperately to spit the cereal piece back out; but he couldn't. The coughing and gagging become worse, until finally he dropped his spoon and crutches onto the floor, his head now lying motionless on the kitchen table. His eyes were wide open, and he had stopped breathing.


	5. Chapter 5

The elevator doors slid open and Skylar exited. Trying to remember where Ted's room was from the last time she visited, she set off left down the hallway, checking the numbers on the doors as she went. Finally she came to Ted's room, took a deep breath and pushed open the door and entered in the same movement.

Ted was, like last time, lying quite still in his bed, his eyes closed and head propped up with the metal frame. Only when the door closed did he open his eyes to see Skylar entering the room. He made no indication he was going to speak, so Skylar decided to say the first word, 'hello, Ted.'

'Why are you- why are you here?' he asked quietly and naturally.

Skylar walked casually over to a table and leaned against it, 'I'm here because of our last conversation, Ted.'

'That was settled; we agreed that I wouldn't say anything.'

'Yes, I know, but... I want to make sure you're still holding to your word.'

'Well, I am, Skylar. You don't have to worry. There's a lot at stake for me.'

'Yes, well, given the past, I now realize I can't exactly trust you, Ted.'

Ted closed his eyes and sighed, 'I know you don't trust me Skylar, and there was a time where that would have made me feel terrible. But not anymore. You've threatened and held your power above me for the last time. I'm going to put an end to it.'

Reaching desperately for the drawers next to his bed, Skylar saw that he was trying to open one of the draws and take something out. Moving away from the table to see what it was he was reaching for Skylar was shocked and scared to see it was a revolver. Ted got a grasp of it and pulled it from the drawer, raising it in Skylar's direction.

'Ted, no!' Skylar shouted, thrusting both arms out in front of her. But it was to no avail, for Ted squeezed the trigger without any hesitation, the loud, bursting noise of the gunshot erupting in the small room.

Skylar felt the full force of the bullet in her stomach as she toppled backwards against the wall, before slowly sliding down it onto the floor, he rasping gasps causing blood to seep from her mouth.

Deciding he was not finished with Skylar, Ted rolled himself out of his bed, but collapsed onto the floor pitifully. The gun fell from his grasp and ended up a metre from where he lay on the floor.

As Ted struggled with immense effort to reach for the gun, Skylar, with a painful effort, turned her head to see a glass of orange juice on the table next to her head. Giving a painful groan, she reached up and grabbed a hold of it.

Turning back to Ted, she saw that he had managed to touch the gun with his fingertips, and was working to get a hold of it again. Taking this only opportunity, Skylar, with all of her remaining strength, threw the glass of orange juice straight for Ted's head. In a miraculous chance, it hit Ted full impact square on the top of his head, the glass shattering and orange juice and blood spilling everywhere.

With some of the broken glass stuck in the top of Ted's head, he, with a final gasp of pain, dropped his head forward onto the floor, twitching suddenly and randomly. With all of her strength drained, and the bullet wound in her stomach, Skylar could do no more, so she too, succumbed to her wounds, and her head fell back against the wall, her hands smeared with her own blood.


	6. Chapter 6

The car raced down the highway in the afternoon light. It was going far over the speed limit, so other cars they passed were just a blur. Whoever was driving the car was determined to get somewhere, and quickly.

'Is he still living in the same residence?' asked Gus inside the car.

Without looking at him Mike replied, 'yes, as far as I know he hasn't moved, or his family either.'

'Good.'

'How do you want this done?'

'Quickly, but I want him to see the rest of his family die before he does.'

'Understandable.'

For Mike it had only been a just over a week since his first demise, but for Gus it had been much longer. They would enjoy their revenge, the justice in it, and see the desperation and fear in Walter's eyes. But what they didn't see was that the truck that was turning from the intersection that had reached. In just a second the massive semi trailer had collided with their in comparison small black sedan. An explosion of shattered glass and snapped metal burst inside and outside the car, the tires blowing and the car being pushed with immense power by the truck across the highway, before slamming into the concrete barrier. Smoke poured from under the bonnet as the smell of fumes became stronger and stronger.

Mike opened his eyes, but not without a sting, to see that a large, sharp piece of metal had lodged itself into Gus' chest. His mouth was agape, and his glasses had fallen off. Blood poured from the wound in his chest, but he made no sound nor movement. He was dead... again.

With immense pain and difficulty, Mike removed his seatbelt and reached over to open the car door, but it would not budge. He looked out where the window was to see that his side of the car had been the one that collided with the road barrier. He would not be going out that way.

'Goddamn it...' Mike muttered with a groan.

He went down on his stomach and began to crawl out where the shattered windshield used to be before it was cracked and removed. Some broken glass pierced Mike's hands, but he didn't care. He just needed to get out of this car.

He finally made it onto the bonnet, and rolled over onto his back, getting his breath back and looking up into the sky. There was a voice speaking to his left. Turning his head Mike saw it was the truck driver. He had gotten out of the truck and was standing next to it, looking with wild and horrified eyes at the scene of Mike lying on his destroyed car.

'Are you alright buddy?'

'What... the hell... do you think?' Mike managed through ravaged breathes.

'I just- I just didn't see you there man, I'm really sorry.'

Mike climbed unsteadily to his legs and slid down off the car bonnet before looking the truck driver in the eye. 'Yeah,' he said, 'so am I.'

Mike reached behind him and took out the handgun he had in the back of his belt. The truck driver barely had time to register what was happened when he was hit in the chest by two shots. He jerked violently before collapsing onto the road, blood seeping out of his wounds.

Stepping over to the body on the ground, Mike made sure he was dead before walking out onto the middle of the road, gun in one hand, the other empty, both by his sides. The first car that stopped would regret it, he thought.


	7. Chapter 7

Jesse walked down the dark and dirty hallway, scanning the numbers on the doors. Finally he found the door with the number _14_ engraved on it. Knocking loudly three times, he waited for the door to be opened. It was near a minute and still the door remained closed, so Jesse decided to turn back and walk away.

Just at that moment did the door finally open partially, the small golden chain of the lock in place. Peering out at him, Todd's face was suspicious but otherwise plain. 'Jesse?'

Jesse turned and shrugged, 'yeah, obviously it's me. You're the one that called me and told me to come here. So are you gonna let me in or what?'

'Oh yeah, sure, just a second.' Todd closed the door and Jesse could hear the chain lock being taken off. Sure enough, the door opened again and Jesse was gestured to come inside.

Todd's apartment was a little messy and cramped, but otherwise it looked good enough. There was a couple of magazines thrown about on tables and couches, and some empty and crushed up cans lying about, but other than that it looked neat enough.

Jesse followed Todd inside and into the small and open kitchen.

'Can I get you a drink or something? A beer, maybe?' he offered.

Jesse turned to face him sharply, 'look here man, I'm not to be friendly, alight? I came because I thought something important was going on, or Mr. White was here or something. So why don't you cut the crap and tell me what the hell is going on?'

For a moment Todd didn't do or say anything, but eventually he shrugged, 'yeah sure, of course. Well, follow me then. I'll show you what it is that made me call you over here.'

Todd led the way across the open, brick walled room and into a smaller, more closed in room. All there was in it was a simple low wooden table and a torn up couch. On the table was an empty bottle of beer, two lines of cocaine, much to Jesse's surprise, as he had never figured Todd for the type, and a handgun.

At first Jesse didn't understand what the point of being brought into this room was, but soon enough he saw it. It was staring down at him, eyes accusing, mouth slightly agape. Jesse backed away a few steps in silent shock, not daring to believe his eyes.

Todd turned to him with a cheerful, friendly smile on his face, 'so what do you think, Jesse?'

Jesse's mouth was wide open, just as his eyes. He kept backing away until he hit the wall, and then pressed his hands against it, as if to steady himself.

The severed head of the boy stared at him, his stare burning through Jesse, never leaving him, never forgiving him. It was unrelenting, and cold, and hard. The nails had been hammered through the ears of the boy, the blood around the impact now well dried and dark. The cut at the neck, where the head had been separated from the body was clean and precise.

'W-what have you done?' Jesse said quietly, wanting to rip his eyes away from the head, but finding he couldn't do it.

Todd shrugged and said casually, 'I thought it would make a good trophy.'

It was the way that he said it that sent Jesse over the edge. He said it as if it were the most obvious and normal thing that came to mind; that it was nothing special, and just something to hang up.

Without hesitating, without even thinking, Jesse tore his gaze away from the head and to the table. In one swift movement, Jesse moved over to it, picked up the gun and raised it to Todd's head.

Todd turned to face Jesse a second before a bullet blasted through his left eye. The burst of noise was near deafening in the small room, and the instant Jesse fired the gun he dropped it to the floor and covered his ears from the loud shock.

Todd's body had slumped lifelessly to the floor face down, blood seeping from the hole where his left eye had been only a second before. The ejected shell rolled across the floorboards, and Jesse could see where the bullet had finally impacted in the brick wall.

Not giving Todd's body one last glance Jesse steadied himself and left the room in a rush.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the middle of the day by the time the red sedan pulled up outside the office. Save for three other cars parked out front, the parking lot was empty. Most people probably thought it was too hot to be out and about, and had decided to stay home.

Mike reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the pistol. It felt comfortable in his hand, as if he was born to hold it.

On the passenger side window the specks of blood and brain still remained from when he had shot the begging woman in the head. It was her own fault, Mike knew. If she had of just kept her mouth shut she could have been filing a report at a police station instead of lying face down on the road with a hole through her head.

Getting out of the car with a groan, Mike rubbed his shoulder where a broken piece of glass had pierced him when his car was hit. He had ripped it out soon enough, but not without a sting of pain. But now it would be the pain of others he would witness. The pain of Walter White and his family. But first, he had to find out where the bastard was. If he had at all common sense he would have left Phoenix the moment he blew up Gus.

As Mike walked up to the door of the office he fastened a silencer to the barrel of his gun and held it low by his side. He didn't know how many people might be inside.

He opened the door calmly and entered. Inside the waiting room, an air-conditioner hummed loudly on the wall, and the blinds were pulled down to keep the sun and heat from getting in. Much to Mike's luck, there was nobody in the seats waiting. Only the Mexican looking receptionist behind her desk could be seen in the room.

Never moving in more than a slow, deliberate pace, Mike walked over to the desk and gave the woman a hard stare before saying quietly, 'is Saul in?'

The receptionist looked up and seemed taken aback by his hard, cold stare. 'He is, uh, he's... in, yes, he's in his office right now, sir.'

Mike nodded, 'thankyou.'

As he turned and started walking to the large oak door, and raised the gun one handed and without looking fired a round straight into the woman's head. The gun let off a suppressed _pow_ and the shell fell silently to the carpet. The receptionist's head snapped backwards and her body slumped lazily off the chair and onto the floor.

Mike was less quiet when he approached Saul's office. His foot slammed hard into the oak, splintering the door off its hinges and smashing it open. Without breaking pace Mike entered the room and raised the gun, now in both hands.

'Whoa whoa whoa!' came the shouts of Saul as he stood in surprise and backed away.

Mike walked further into the room and leveled the gun to Saul's head. 'Where is White?'

Behind his desk Saul looked scared and confused. 'Ehrmantraut?!' he exclaimed loudly.

'That's me, now talk!'

'I thought you were gone! I thought you left the country, or something. Walt told me-'

'Where - is - he?'

'What do you mean? Wouldn't he be at his house?'

'So he hasn't left?'

Goodman shook his head, 'no, not that I know of, just _please _don't shoot me, Mike, please!'

Before Mike could pull the trigger anyway, a door to the left swung open, catching his attention. Mike swung around to see Huel, his pants still unzipped, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

In his surprise, Mike wasn't the first to act. For a man as big as he was, Huel still had very good reflexes, and it was this that made him pull out his handgun from his waistband and raise it up to Mike's chest.

'No!' came Saul's shout, but to no avail.

The first round took Mike square in the chest, taking the air out of him and making him drop his gun. The second and third shots hit him in the neck and arm.

Blood squirting everywhere, Mike staggered back a few steps before collapsing onto his back, his last feeling one of nothingness. No pain. Nothing.


End file.
